


All Of This Could Have Been Yours

by hilaryfaye



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, M/M, alternate endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are no mistakes. There are just things that come back to bite us.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (A Meeting.)

Harasawa leaned against the hood of his car while he smoked, watching the street. It was some ungodly hour of the morning--he didn't even want to know how early it was. Only a few people wandered past him, most drunk, most not paying any attention to him.

He tapped the unopened bottle of whiskey against his thigh, his thumbnail catching the bottom edge of the seal. A smart man wouldn't even be here.

A smart man wouldn't be in this situation.

"My, you're up late."

Harasawa couldn't help the way he looked up, shifted when he heard that voice. Imayoshi looked unbothered by the late hour, his suit still crisp, his eyes clear. "If I didn't know better, Officer, I'd say you were waiting for me."

"I'm not on duty," Harasawa said, reluctant. "So you don't have to call me 'officer.'"

Imayoshi smiled, walking toward him. "A social visit, then. Do you have another cigarette?"

It always went this way. One of them would track down the other. Imayoshi would ask for a cigarette, because he never carried his own, because he didn't have to. Harasawa had already taken one out, and flicked his lighter. Imayoshi put the cigarette to his lips in a way that would have been almost delicate, if it hadn't bordered on obscene.

"Seems you had some kind of celebration in mind, Officer," he said, noting the whiskey bottle. "Or was it just that kind of day?"

Harasawa wished he didn't feel compelled to answer that. "It was a gift."

"Oh? That's right, today's your birthday, isn't it?" Imayoshi took the bottle out of Harasawa's hand, inspecting the label. Harasawa didn't bother asking how Imayoshi had known it was his birthday. It wasn't an occasion he typically gave much thought to.

Imayoshi looked back to him, smiling. "Maybe we can finish our conversation elsewhere, Officer." He gestured his own car. Harasawa had parked a block away, not nearly far enough to escape Imayoshi's notice. It gleamed, white exterior painted orange and blue by the neon lights. Harasawa had been in it before, he was familiar with the leather seats, the ones that Imayoshi had fucked him on the last time they had met.

"Right," Harasawa said, and followed Imayoshi to the car. He couldn't help checking over his shoulder, as if he expected someone he knew to see him here, in this part of town. "What about my car?"

"I'll have someone pick it up for you," Imayoshi replied. "Really, Officer, don't you trust me by now?"

"I wouldn't trust you any farther than I could throw you," Harasawa muttered. Imayoshi chuckled.

Harasawa slid into the car first, and Imayoshi after him. Harasawa avoided the eyes of the driver. "We're headed home, Susa," Imayoshi said, apparently cheerful. "We're celebrating Officer Harasawa's birthday."  
Harasawa had the thought that he would have liked nothing better than to strangle Imayoshi.

#

The first time they'd met Harasawa had been putting handcuffs on Imayoshi. Even then he'd been smirking like he'd somehow won the game, or like he knew he was about to. "I didn't know they let officers grow their hair that long," he'd commented after Harasawa had shoved him into the back of the car. "Or is it just because of seniority?"

Harasawa ignored him then, wondering how it was that the older he got the younger the people he arrested were. And how much more of a pain in the ass they were.

As it had turned out, there hadn't been anything they could hold Imayoshi on--he slipped out between their fingers just like that, picked up by a woman who looked too sweet to be in league with someone like Imayoshi. Harasawa knew now that, between the two of them, it was likely Momoi Satsuki was the more dangerous.

After that it seemed like Imayoshi had been putting himself in Harasawa's way. When Harasawa went to buy coffee, Imayoshi was there, chatting with the staff as if he were a regular. Imayoshi would stop to smoke outside the precinct, or "run into" Harasawa while he was out on patrol. He would smile, say "Hello, Officer," and act every time as if it was all a coincidence.

It had picked away at Harasawa's patience, until one afternoon when he slammed Imayoshi up against an alley wall and demanded to know why he was following him. He hadn't gotten an answer.

Imayoshi had used that damned smirk, and put his hand down the front of Harasawa's slacks. If Harasawa had had any sense left in him, he'd have put an end to it there. Instead, he ended up with Imayoshi's mouth around his cock in the middle of the day, unable to form a coherent thought because his attention was divided between making sure they weren't caught, and how soft Imayoshi's hair was in his fingers.

Worst of all, Imayoshi had kissed his hip, smiled up at him and said, "See you again, Officer."

#

Imayoshi's home was neatly hidden behind a high wall. Harasawa understood it that Momoi lived there, too, as well as several men that Imayoshi and Momoi called upon as some kind of security force. By now, they all knew who Harasawa was.

"Whoever gave this to you has decent taste," Imayoshi said, opening the bottle. He poured two glasses, handing one to Harasawa as if he were playing host. He raised his glass. "A toast, Officer."

"Oh, for the love of God, don't," Harasawa said. He knocked back his glass, and loosened his tie. "Don't make me think about getting older."

Imayoshi sat on a low divan, knees apart. "It hurts me that you never want to talk anymore, Officer."

Harasawa knelt, spreading his fingers across Imayoshi's thighs. "I don't come here for your sparkling conversation."

"A shame. I'm a wonderful conversationalist." Imayoshi sipped at the whiskey as Harasawa undid his belt, head bent in a single-minded focus.

Harasawa rubbed his palm over the front of Imayoshi's slacks, almost smiling as Imayoshi shifted his hips to give Harasawa a better angle. Imayoshi reached down to run his fingers through Harasawa's hair, for once shutting up. Harasawa leaned in, pressing his mouth over Imayoshi's hardening cock through the fabric. A soft, sigh-like sound escaped Imayoshi. His fingers curled around the back of Harasawa's head, pressing him forward.

Harasawa pulled back just far enough to open Imayoshi's slacks and pull down the waistband of his underwear. He swallowed him down, and something like a sound of surprise came from somewhere in Imayoshi's throat. Harasawa felt a touch of smug gratification, anchoring his hands on Imayoshi's thighs.

Imayoshi was mercifully quiet. He finished his drink, and pulled Harasawa off of him. "Let's not get carried away," he said, his voice low. "I'm not going to be done with you that easily, Katsunori."

A thrill ran through him when Imayoshi used his given name, and he hated himself for feeling it. Imayoshi traced his fingers along Harasawa's jaw, and smiled. He pulled Harasawa up, drawing treacherous kisses along his throat. "Take your clothes off," he whispered, his teeth scraping a soft spot on Harasawa's neck. Harasawa shuddered, and stood up to obey.

Imayoshi poured another glass and sat back to watch Harasawa as he undressed. He motioned for Harasawa to come closer, and pulled Harasawa onto the divan, straddling Imayoshi's lap. Harasawa steadied his hands on the back of the divan, a blush rising to his face because this must have looked ridiculous and he couldn't imagine what Imayoshi was getting out of this.

Imayoshi's hands traced up over the back of his thighs, to the small of his back. Harasawa felt Imayoshi's breath against his throat and leaned in, catching the smell of his cologne, something that probably cost more than Harasawa could ever dream of spending.

Imayoshi's hand closed over his cock. Harasawa sucked in a breath, face tucked against that damned soft hair. Imayoshi's other hand held onto his hip as he stroked, his tongue tracing circles on Harasawa's throat.

"Ah, fuck," Harasawa whispered. "I'm going to--" Imayoshi bit him, dragging a guttural sound out of Harasawa's throat as he came on Imayoshi's shirt. Imayoshi pressed a teasing kiss over the bite, and drew his hand up under Harasawa's chin. He didn't give Harasawa a chance to catch his breath, kissing him like he was stealing something.

Imayoshi pushed Harasawa onto his back on the divan, pressed hard over Harasawa's hips. He rolled his hips against Harasawa, his teeth on Harasawa's throat, leaving marks he knew he wouldn't be able to hide when he went to work. Imayoshi was maddeningly silent, grinding himself on Harasawa, coming with a sigh.

Imayoshi stretched like a cat and smiled down at him. "Perhaps a shower, Officer?"

Harasawa had to collect himself enough to put his pants back on, and to mostly button up his shirt. He wanted few things less than to be seen half-naked by the other residents of the house.

He showered while Imayoshi discarded the rumpled suit, the exhaustion of waiting up all night finally catching up with him. It was just as well he had the next day off.

Imayoshi went into the shower after him, and if he came back, Harasawa didn't know because he was asleep the moment he laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.

#

"Honestly, Shouichi, he looks like you tried to tear his throat out." Momoi smiled warmly at Harasawa as she handed him a cup of coffee. She had a phone cradled against her ear. "I hope you slept well, Officer."

Harasawa was fairly certain they called him that to remind him what he was, and just exactly how bad for him it would be if it was discovered what he was doing. He knew that if she felt the need to, Momoi would crush him."I did, thank you."

Momoi returned to her phone conversation with Imayoshi. "Yes, he's still here. Really, Shou-chan, it's very rude of you to just take off when your guest is still asleep. I'll have Sakurai take him home. Hmm?" She glanced at Harasawa. He couldn't read her face. "Oh. I see. Mm. Just a moment, Shou-chan." She pressed the phone into her shoulder and looked at Harasawa. "If you'll wait just an hour," she said, in a tone too sweet to be trusted, "Shou-chan wants to take you for breakfast."

Harasawa wondered what was happening in that hour that he wasn't supposed to know about. He just nodded, and went to sit down at the table with his coffee.

He found it was easier, if he didn't think too hard about anything. 


	2. (A Thought.)

Harasawa was painfully easy to read. He was irritated that Imayoshi had taken him somewhere semi-public, though the chances of him seeing anyone he recognized were extremely slim. Even if he was seen, anyone who saw him would know better than to open their mouth, because it would mean they had been there to see him.

He kept glancing at his watch. "Are you that eager to be out of my company, Officer?" Imayoshi asked, sipping at his coffee. "I thought we were getting along so well."

Harasawa's hand curled into a fist and released, as if he'd managed to crush some biting word. "Don't call me that, here."

"What should I call you?" Imayoshi smiled. "Katsunori?"

Harasawa's shoulders went rigid. "Never mind," he muttered.

Imayoshi put his coffee down and leaned over the table. "You could relax, Officer, I think you would enjoy yourself, more."

"Why are you doing this?" It was rare that Harasawa cut straight to the point of a matter. Imayoshi studied him a moment, and sat back, running a finger around the rim of the coffee cup.

"Why am I buying your breakfast? Well I thought it was only the hospitable thing to do."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"What is--this." Harasawa was getting irritated again. "What is this thing that we're doing?"

Imayoshi considered dancing around the question again, but that might actually drive Harasawa to leave. One had to know when to reel them in.

"As I understood it, Officer, we are two people enjoying each other's company."

"That's a load of shit."

Imayoshi sipped at his coffee. "You amuse me, Katsunori, as I imagine I must in some way amuse you." He smiled. "Otherwise why would you keep coming back?"

He had cornered him there, he knew. Harasawa took a long swallow of coffee, looking away. "I'm not going to pretend like I don't know what you are." He picked over the food. "I've had to arrest you before, I'm willing to do it again."

"If you say so, Officer."

It was too easy to goad him, honestly. Harasawa's hand tightened into a fist again. He was like a coiled spring, though Imayoshi didn't think he was conciously aware of it.

Imayoshi could keep tightening the coil, and when he got Harasawa behind closed doors again, well.

He would be a lot more exciting.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Imayoshi only meant to glance at it. He frowned, and tucked the phone away. "I'm afraid I have to cut this short," he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Your car is waiting for you outside."

Harasawa took a last swallow of coffee. "Alright, then."

Imayoshi rose, retrieving his phone. "Sakurai, I need you to take care of something."

#

Harasawa would have liked to be doing anything rather than staring at his empty apartment, knowing that Imayoshi could tug the string and Harasawa would go crawling back.

He sagged onto his sofa, rubbing his face. He knew Imayoshi had been winding him up. He knew why.

He hated that he was disappointed Imayoshi had left.

With a _fwump_ his cat dropped down from the back of the sofa and sprawled across his lap, perfectly content that he had returned.

He had ended up with the cat in much the same way he had ended up with Imayoshi. It had come in through an open window in his apartment one night, he had made the mistake of feeding it, and it never left. If Imayoshi had asked, he would have said he liked the cat better.

She was black, with long fur and huge green eyes that always looked surprised. He'd named her Ume.

Harasawa stroked her fur for a few minutes, eyes closed. His phone rang and he jumped. Ume fled, staring at him from across the room before she vanished down the hall.

Harasawa pulled his phone out of his pocket, and stared at it for a moment, trying to decide how much he wanted to talk to his brother, right then. He dropped his phone on the floor and threw an arm over his eyes.

What in the hell had he done to bring this on himself.

#

Harasawa woke up from a nap with Imayoshi sitting in a chair opposite him, Ume purring in his lap. "I wish you would stop inviting yourself into my house."

"I'd think you would lock the doors, if it bothered you."

"I didn't think a locked door would stop you."

"It wouldn't." Imayoshi scratched under Ume's chin. Harasawa could hear her purring like the rumble of a fridge.

Harasawa rubbed his face, becoming aware that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and now had slept in them. He got up and walked down the hall, and was dimly aware of Imayoshi following him.  
He meant to change, or something, or anything to distract him, but he felt Imayoshi's lips on his neck, and he couldn't move. Just stared at the grey little room he slept in, and let Imayoshi's hands creep around his waist to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He sucked in a breath, and turned around to slam Imayoshi up against the bedroom door.

Imayoshi wore the closest thing to a sincere smile Harasawa had ever seen on him. Harasawa slid a hand up Imayoshi's thigh, and pressed his face into the curve of Imayoshi's throat, breathing in the scent of him.

Imayoshi's pulse quickened under his lips.

Harasawa shifted both his hands under Imayoshi's ass and picked him up. Imayoshi wrapped his legs around Harasawa's hips, fingers sinking into the back of his neck. Harasawa fell on top of him into the bed, kissing him like a man starving. Imayoshi mad an appreciative sound and shifted under him, fingers scraping down Harasawa's back. He was only transparent when he wanted to be fucked.

Harasawa tangled his fingers in Imayoshi's hair, kissing down his face and neck, his other hand cupped under Imayoshi's ass. He would have to let him up if he wanted to get Imayoshi's clothes off of him, but for now, all he wanted was this--Imayoshi growing more and more impatient under him, trying to pull his shirt off over his head. "That won't work," Harasawa said in a hoarse whisper.

Imayoshi looked almost annoyed. Harasawa couldn't help but laugh. He sat back, pulled his shirt off, and went back to what he was doing, Imayoshi's hands roaming over his back again, tracing scars he was becoming familiar with, and dipping under Harasawa's belt.

Harasawa rolled over, pulling Imayoshi on top of him. Imayoshi unbuttoned his shirt quickly, clearly irritated with Harasawa's slow pace. He went to reach for Harasawa's belt, but Harasawa caught his wrists and pulled him up, stretching Imayoshi's torso along his own. "Don't get carried away."

Imayoshi made a sound like a growl, but let his hands rest by Harasawa's shoulders as Harasawa took his time. Imayoshi took it for granted that he was attractive, that it wasn't just the sharpened smirk that drew people to him like fish into the net. He straddled Harasawa's hips, shoulders relaxed, a line of black hair trailing down from his navel that Harasawa traced with his thumb.

"Officer," Imayoshi said at last, "I know you're appreciating the view, but if you really don't mind, I want you inside me."

After a moment, Harasawa found his voice again. "You're going to have to take the rest of your clothes off for that, aren't you?"

He could hear his phone ringing in the living room. He shucked off his pants as a naked Imayoshi returned to the bed lying on his stomach, and rolled over to find the lube. He slicked his fingers and leaned in to kiss Imayoshi as he reached down to prepare him. Imayoshi surprised him with his acquiescene, returning the kiss with all the fervence of prayer.

Imayoshi's back curved in such a beautiful way. Harasawa kissed his way up Imayoshi's spine, his fingers pressed into Imayoshi, moving oh-so-slowly, putting the ragged edge in Imayoshi's breath.

"Hara _sawa_ ," Imayoshi said, almost snapping. The order to hurry up was clear enough.

Harasawa leaned over, bringing his mouth to Imayoshi's ear. "Get on your back."

Imayoshi hesitated only a moment, and then turned. Harasawa slicked his cock with lube, and kissed Imayoshi as he pushed in. He felt Imayoshi catch his breath. Harasawa caught a fistful of bedsheets as he set a pace that he knew Imayoshi thought was too slow.

Imayoshi's skin felt flush. He focused is attention on Harasawa's neck and shoulders, adding to the marks that he wouldn't be able to hide. Harasawa thrust a little harder into him, and Imayoshi sucked in a breath, his thighs folded tight against Harasawa's hips as if begging him on.

"Katsunori," Imayoshi said his name in a breathless way. It had to be calculated for a reaction, but Harasawa didn't care. He gave Imayoshi what he wanted, picking up the pace. He reached down to grasp Imayoshi's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Imayoshi let his head fall back, that beautiful neck exposed, the most vulnerable Harasawa had ever seen him.

The sight sent a shock through him. "Fuck--" Harasawa whispered. "Shou--"

Imayoshi made a choked sound, back arched, and came all over Harasawa's hand. Harasawa groaned, his head against Imayoshi's shoulder, in three last thrusts, his breath knocked out of him.

Harasawa rolled off of Imayoshi, his heart slowly coming back to a normal pace.

Imayoshi was unusually quiet for a moment, catching his breath.

"You," Harasawa said, "are such a pain in the ass."

Imayoshi snorted. "Don't act like you don't enjoy it." He rolled onto his side, tracing his fingers over and around the scars on Harasawa's torso. "Who gave you this one?" Imayoshi asked, drawing a circle around an old gunshot scar on his left arm, just below the shoulder.

"Some small-time gang member who got a lucky shot," Harasawa said. "I don't remember his name anymore." He curled and uncurled his hand, a ghost of the old pain brushing his arm. "They weren't sure if I'd be able to stay on the force."

"When was that?"

"It was my first year." Harasawa had the uncomfortable thought that he had been a police officer for about as long as Imayoshi had been alive. He rubbed his face, as if he could scrub the thought away. _You're old,_ _Katsunori,_ he thought, _and you're in over your head._

He knew exactly how old Imayoshi was. Twenty three, born on June third. Half Harasawa's age. He knew exactly what this looked like to anyone who had an ounce more sense than he did.

Anyone who had an ounce more shame.

Imayoshi leaned over, his teeth scraping teasingly over Harasawa's shoulder. "Relax, Officer," he murmured, "we have all night."

At some point, Imayoshi did sleep. Harasawa stayed awake a while, hardly daring to move. Imayoshi looked different when he slept. No smirks, no sly looks. He looked (and Harasawa could have laughed at himself for thinking it) almost innocent.

The most dangerous thought slipped by almost unnoticed.

He thought he wouldn't mind waking up next to that face again.


	3. (A Call.)

"Aren't you too old to be coming in looking like you've been ravaged?" Araki asked over her coffee. "You'll make the rookies jealous." 

Harasawa tugged at his collar as if there were any way in hell he could hide the marks on his neck. "Did I miss anything while I was out?"

"A couple of our regular guests," Araki said. "Apparently Aida's daughter is getting ready to graduate, it was all he could talk about." She rolled her eyes. "I imagine he'll tell you all about it when he sees you." 

Harasawa could imagine. Aida would want to know all about the marks on his neck, too. "Do you think we could talk him into an early retirement?" he muttered. 

Araki hid her smile in her cup. "Let me know if you figure out a way to do that."

Harasawa's phone rang. He sighed, and checked the number. He'd been avoiding calls from everyone for almost a week now. He must have made a grimace, because Araki asked--"Ex wife?" 

"Yeah," he said. He tossed his phone in a desk drawer, guilt already clawing at him. 

Araki arched an eyebrow. "Troubles?" 

"When aren't there?" Harasawa glanced at her. "Please tell me we have something to do today."

#

His phone had three messages when he got back from patrol. One from his brother, asking him to call. One from his ex-wife, saying his family was worried about him, and could he take the kids for a weekend a few weeks from now. 

The last was from a number he didn't recognize, but he knew Momoi's voice instantly. She asked him to come to a hospital on the other side of town. "Shouichi's been shot." 

#

Harasawa couldn't remember what excuses he made--something about a family emergency, he was pretty sure. Whatever he said, no one asked him too many questions when he took off, barely out of his uniform. 

Momoi's voice was ringing in his ears. Her voice had been tight, like she was trying to wrestle her emotions under control. "You need to be here."

"Shouichi's been shot."

She hadn't said anything else, and Harasawa's mind was busy vividly constructing the most devestating scenarios it could manufacture. His grip on the steering wheel had made his knuckles white.

He called Momoi's phone from the hospital lobby. "What floor?" 

Her voice was controlled. "Third. He's just out of surgery, you'll see me in the hallway."

She was sitting by a girl who had to still be high school age--the resemblance between the girl and Imayoshi was uncanny. Momoi spotted him and said something to her, then stood to meet him halfway down the hallway. "Before you ask," she said in a low voice, "he's stable. I told Suzume that you work for us, and that's all she needs to know." 

The girl was watching him over Momoi's shoulder, with a calculating gaze that reminded Harasawa too much of her brother. "Is there anything I should do?"

"We have things under control," Momoi whispered, looking almost angry. "I only called you because I know Shouichi will want to see you when he wakes up." 

Harasawa stared at her. Momoi turned around, going back to sit with Suzume. There was no place nearby for Harasawa to sit, so he stood nearby, watching hospital staff come and go. "What happened?" he finally asked, when he couldn't bear the silence anymore.

Momoi glanced at him. "You know I can't talk about it here."

"Vaguely, then."

She sighed. "It was a business deal gone awry," was all she said. She looked pale. 

Harasawa folded his arms over his chest, to keep himself from fidgeting. 

Suzume never said a word. 

#

When Imayoshi woke, Momoi and Suzume went in to see him first. Harasawa paced in the hallway, not daring to check his watch. He knew he'd been there for at least a couple of hours. He'd even gone to get coffee for the three of them. If he verified the time he'd spent there, he'd have to ask himself why he'd stayed that long.

After a while, the door opened, and Momoi and Suzume stepped back into the hall. "I'm taking Suzume home," Momoi said. "He wants to see you." He couldn't read the look Momoi gave him before she put her hand on Suzume's shoulder and guided her toward the elevator. 

Harasawa had to brace himself, drawing in a breath before he stepped into the room, and crossed some invisible threshold into a commitment he wasn't sure he wanted to make. 

Imayoshi looked drawn and pale, with hollow circles under his eyes, but he smiled when he saw Harasawa. "So you did come. I wasn't sure I believed Satsuki when she said you were here."

"She called me," Harasawa said. He sat in the chair next to the bed. "What happened?"

"I got into a bit of a disagreement with someone, that's all." 

"You got shot." 

"There's no need to be redundant, Officer." Imayoshi looked tired, and Harasawa felt guilty, but he didn't want to leave. 

He hesitated a moment, and then reached across to grasp Imayoshi's hand. Imayoshi glanced at him, but didn't remark on it. He curled his fingers around Harasawa's. "I'll only be here a little while." He smirked, and added, "Of course, while I'm here--"

"No." Harasawa couldn't find himself to be irritated. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of but I am not having sex with you in a hospital." 

"Ah, well, it was worth the suggestion." Imayoshi grimaced and closed his eyes. 

Harasawa squeezed his hand in spite of himself, and reached up to smooth Imayoshi's hair, brushing it out of his eyes. 

He heard the door click and sat back fast, expecting to see a nurse. 

Instead, he was staring at a woman a little older than him, with Imayoshi's eyes. She looked him up and down, the way a person might look at a dead crow. "So. You're the station boy."

Harasawa was pretty sure this was the first time in twenty years he'd been called a "boy." He opened his mouth, but wasn't sure what to say.

She shut the door and put her purse down in a chair. "I wasn't expecting to see a police officer sitting at my son's bedside. At least, not without a warrant for arrest." 

_My son._ She could only be a handful of years older than Harasawa, ten at the most. She wore a business suit, and would have looked like any other woman of her age, were it not for those eyes. She knew the kind of fear she inspired.

Imayoshi stirred, and when he saw his mother, appeared suddenly much more awake than he had been a moment before. "Mom." 

Imayoshi's mother looked at him from where she stood. "We had some difficulties, I see."

"Everything's been handled."

"And what happened to the men who are supposed to protect you?"

"Cleaning up. They caught us by surprise, otherwise this wouldn't have happened."

"That's precisely what concerns me. You shouldn't have given them the opportunity to surprise you." 

Imayoshi seemed thoroughly humbled, not quite looking his mother in the eye. Harasawa thought he should leave, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself, so he stayed quiet. 

"And worse," his mother went on, in the same even tone, "Suzume had to worry about you."

"I'm sorry, Mom. It won't happen again."

She glanced at Harasawa once more. "I will be keeping an eye on you, Officer Harasawa. I suggest you keep on your best behavior."

Harasawa nodded wordlessly, and she left.

Harasawa let out a breath. Imayoshi leaned back in his pillow. "What's your father like?" Harasawa asked.

"I don't know, I've never met him." Imayoshi rubbed his face. "She got rid of him."

He said it so casually. Harasawa decided not to ask what that meant. 

Imayoshi closed his eyes again. "You should go home, Officer. You have work tomorrow."

Harasawa brushed his fingers over the back of Imayoshi's hand. "Call me, if you need anything."

The corners of Imayoshi's mouth tugged up. "I will. Have a good night, Officer."

Harasawa walked through the hospital in a haze, feeling lost. He made it back to the lobby, almost empty, and pulled out his phone. The first number he could think to dial was his ex-wife's. 

"Do you have any idea what time it is, Katsunori?" 

"I'm sorry, I--it's just. You sounded worried when you called."

She was quiet a moment. "Your brother wants you to call him. He gets worried when you don't answer his calls."

"I know." Harasawa stared across the lobby, at his reflection in the glass doors. He looked so tired. "I'll take care of the kids when you go out of town. How are they?"

"Katsunori, I'd really rather discuss this at a more reasonable hour."

"Right, sorry." He closed his eyes. "I'll... call you some other time." 

"Goodnight, Katsunori."

"Goodnight." She hung up, and Harasawa was left to himself. He sighed, and texted his brother. I'm not dead, I promise. I'll call you in the morning. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, and made his way for the door. When the blast of cold air hit him, he finally realized--he'd been in such a hurry that he left his coat at the station. 


	4. (A Mistake.)

"Hello, Officer," Imayoshi's voice was cheerful on the phone. "Do you think you could spare some time to pick me up from the hospital? I wouldn't want to be a bother to Momoi or my mother." 

"But you don't mind being a bother to me," Harasawa replied, picking up his coat. "Today's your lucky day, I suppose, I have the day off." Momoi had told him that morning that Imayoshi was being discharged.

Imayoshi probably knew that.

"That's fortunate," Imayoshi replied. "I'll be waiting."

#

Imayoshi took note of Harasawa's silence. Either his mind was somewhere else, or Harasawa did not want to look Imayoshi in the eye. "If I didn't know better, Officer, I'd think I'd done something to offend you." 

Harasawa glanced at him. "Hmm?"

He hadn't even been listening. "You're being unusually quiet." 

"Ah." Harasawa "I was trying to think of a way to ask if your mother is having me followed."

"Probably. I am her only son, after all." He smiled. "And injured, at that."

Harasawa wasn't listening. He slid his hand across Harasawa's thigh, and Harasawa jumped so suddenly Imayoshi supposed it was a good thing they were stopped at a light. Harasawa cursed and watched the light. "If you want to get us both killed I suppose you can leave your hand there."

Imayoshi trailed his hand down to Harasawa's knee. "Take me to your place." 

Harasawa let out a breath, and nodded. 

Imayoshi thought that Harasawa's apartment never really looked lived in. It was bare of any decoration, and the only hint that someone lived there was the cat, sleeping by the heater. Harasawa always looked unsettled by the things Imayoshi knew about him, but it was easy enough to get your hands on employment information when you had the right connections. 

Really, he didn't know much about Harasawa at all. 

Harasawa closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, looking at Imayoshi like there was something he wanted to say. 

Imayoshi suspected he knew what it was. 

He'd known since Harasawa called him "Shou." 

"Whatever you're about to say, it won't do anyone any favors." Imayoshi stepped forward, so that there was hardly room enough to breathe between them. He had to look up at Harasawa, knew that Harasawa could feel his breath on his throat. 

Harasawa sighed and lowered his head, his shoulders going slack in something like defeat. Imayoshi pressed up against him, eager to move on to something else, because if Harasawa said what he so clearly wanted to say, it would mean dealing with it. It would mean cutting this short, because Imayoshi couldn't have Harasawa become a liability. 

"I've made a mistake," Harasawa whispered, and Imayoshi silenced him with a kiss, his fingers on Harasawa's throat. 

"There are no mistakes. There are just things that come back to bite us." Imayoshi ran his hands down the front of Harasawa's shirt. 

"You just got back from the hospital," Harasawa said. 

"I know that, Officer, what exactly is your point? I haven't had the pleasure of your company in too long." Imayoshi began sliding to his kness, ready to undo Harasawa's belt, but Harasawa caught him by the elbows, pulling him back up. He kissed Imayoshi as if it was the last thing he meant to do, pushing him back down the hall into the bedroom. 

He undressed Imayoshi, pausing over the newly formed scar in Imayoshi's abdomen. "You're lucky, you know," he said. "A shot like that could have killed you."

"Slowly, and painfully--I'm aware." Imayoshi leaned back on his hands on the bed. "I don't want to talk about this, Katsunori."

Harasawa worked his way down. Imayoshi didn't even particularly want the sex, he just wanted Harasawa to be quiet. 

Afterward, Harasawa got up on the bed beside him, offering Imayoshi a cigarette. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about it." He lit his own cigarette, and then Imayoshi's. Harasawa rubbed his face, and stared at the ceiling. "Just things that come back to bite us, huh?" 

It took Imayoshi a moment to remember what the hell he was talking about. "You think too much about the wrong things."

"What should I be thinking about?" 

Harasawa's cigarettes were cheap, and Imayoshi could tell. He caught Harasawa's wrist, turning his head. "Your watch looks... antique."

Harasawa pulled his arm away. "It was my father's. He was an officer, too. He was killed a few years after I joined the force." 

Imayoshi wanted to get on his side, but he still hurt if he moved in the wrong way. "That's your problem, you know. You're sentimental." 

Harasawa didn't answer. 

Imayoshi managed to sit up, scanning the bare room. Behind him, Harasawa let out a laugh. He looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"I was just thinking," Harasawa said, "that the day I arrested you, I wasn't supposed to be at work. I was supposed to take my kids out but they got sick and my ex-wife cancelled on me. If I hadn't been there--I wouldn't have met you."

"You think so?" Imayoshi leaned over him to drop his cigarette in the ashtray. "I think we'd have run into each other eventually, one way or another." He hadn't known that Harasawa had ever been married.

Harasawa ran a hand down his back. No, Imayoshi knew what he wanted to say--and he knew just as well that he couldn't let Harasawa say it. "I ought to be getting home, Officer. I'm expected."

"I can take you--"

"I'll call Susa." Imayoshi smiled at him and climbed out of bed. Better for everyone, he thought, if he started pulling away now. 

#

Harasawa suspected. How could he not? He watched Imayoshi get dressed and go to the living room to make his call, and stayed in bed, regarding the ceiling. He'd known it would end something like this. He supposed that once Imayoshi was outside that door, it would be the last time he saw him--or at least that this, whatever this was, was drawing to a close. Over as quickly as it had begun, and with as little negotiation. 

He finished his cigarette, and went out to see if Imayoshi was still there. 

The room was empty, except for Ume, still sleeping by the heater. He glanced out the window, and saw a sleek white car pulling away from the curb. 

He poured a drink, lit another cigarette, and wondered what he was supposed to do now. 


	5. (An Ending.)

Imayoshi thought little of the two weeks in which he didn't hear from Harasawa. It wasn't particularly unusual--he hadn't given Harasawa any phone number to contact him by, and Harasawa could be stubborn if he thought he'd been slighted, which Imayoshi supposed he probably did. 

He went to Harasawa's expecting he would either find the apartment empty, and wait for Harasawa to return, or that Harasawa would be there, and be annoyed that Imayoshi would just walk in as if he lived there. 

He was not expecting to see people he didn't recognize. 

They stared at him, as if he were the intruder. "Can I help you?" One man asked. He looked a little like Harasawa, but his hair was shorter, and he was younger. 

"Where is Katsunori?" Imayoshi asked. He might not have used Harasawa's given name, but as he scanned the people in apartment, he had the uneasy realization that they must be Harasawa's family.

The man who had spoken to him struggled for words, until he finally came up with, "He was killed."

Imayoshi stared at him. 

"I'm sorry," the man said, "I'm his brother."

"I'm--I'm a friend," Imayoshi said, at last. "He's dead?"

They told him that Harasawa had been shot during an arrest, and that he hadn't survived the surgery. They had come to take care of his things, and his funeral was the next day. 

Imayoshi sat on a chair, not meeting the eyes of any of Harasawa's curious family members. He hadn't even known that Harasawa had a brother and sister, or that they had children of their own. 

An irritated woman said that the cat was hiding under the bed, and wouldn't come out. Imayoshi somehow knew, looking at her, that this had to be Harasawa's ex-wife. He got up without saying a word to anyone, going to the bedroom, and coaxing Ume out from under the couch. She dug her claws into his shirt and would not let go. 

Imayoshi sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her fur. 

Harasawa was dead. 

Imayoshi looked around the room, wondering if he should take something. That was ridiculous, of course--he'd been going to break it off, anyway. What sense was there in holding on?

He opened the drawer of the nightstand. Harasawa's cigarettes were there--and his father's watch. 

Imayoshi pocketed both, and went back out to the front room, Ume's claws sinking deeper into his shoulder as he walked past Harasawa's family, and left without a word. 

#

He didn't go to the funeral. The thought of being there, with all the people that had known Harasawa, where all those other police would be, made his skin crawl. Instead, he did the work of finding out who had shot him. 

It was a simple enough matter, tracking down and cornering the man. It was not vengeance. It was simply putting the matter to rest. 

He was not inclined to leave loose ends. 

Satsuki was the one who came to meet him, after it was done. They sat in an empty warehouse, where Imayoshi was cleaning up.

"I notice you're wearing his watch, now." Imayoshi looked at her, but didn't say anything. "Is it better, now that his shooter is dead?"

Imayoshi pulled on a fresh shirt, mindful of the buttons. "He had kids. Did you know that?"

"I found it mentioned in some of his records, yes." She watched his back. "Do you miss him?"

"He didn't deserve to die." Imayoshi smoothed the front of his shirt. "I was going to end it, anyway. I think he knew." He could see Satsuki watching him in the mirror. 

"Do you think he was reckless?"

"I don't know." He pulled on his jacked. "But it would make sense, wouldn't it?"

Satsuki didn't answer that. "What are you going to do, now?"

"What I would have done anyway." He turned back to her, kissing her cheek. "We have work to do, love."

Satsuki rose, putting a hand on his chest. "Be careful, Shouichi." Don't be reckless. 

Imayoshi nodded. "Of course," he said softly. "Wouldn't want to get shot again." 


	6. (A Grave.) Alternate Ending

Harasawa wasn't expecting to see that white car when he came home. He hadn't looked for Imayoshi during those two weeks, he'd assumed that if Imayoshi wanted to see him, he would. 

Imayoshi was smoking by his car. He smiled at Harasawa, and came walking over to meet him. 

It took Harasawa a moment to register the bang, and the way Imayoshi stopped, and crumpled. 

He didn't remember running. He didn't know who called for an ambulance--Susa, he supposed. They had to pull him back, and Harasawa didn't remember being shoved into a car and being driven to the hospital.

He did vaguely remember that it was the first time he had actually heard Susa's voice. He was on the phone, Harasawa thought he was talking to Momoi. 

They were almost at the hospital before Harasawa realized that Imayoshi's blood was drying on his hands. He scrubbed his hands on his shirt. 

He knew, he knew how this would end. 

He just didn't want to.

#

The silence when they were told rang in Harasawa's ears. There were other people there, people who worked for Imayoshi. Some of them he recognized, others he didn't. 

And there was Momoi, her face as still as if she'd been carved from a glacier. And there, Suzume. He didn't remember when she'd arrived. She was crying, but not making a sound. 

He searched the faces, and found Imayoshi's mother. Her face was grey, but as still as Momoi's. She noticed Harasawa's gaze, and stared back at him, as if daring him to break the silence. 

He left, instead. 

He walked. He bought a bottle of whiskey, and walked home. It was dark by the time he got there, and he ached from head to toe. 

He locked the door. 

He drank until he couldn't see. 

#

Harasawa woke up face down on his floor. He rolled onto his back, groaning, and spotted a pair of feet, in women's shoes. His eyes traveled up, to see Momoi staring down at him with something akin to distaste.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "How did you get in?" 

"If a locked door would not have stopped Shouichi, why should it stop me?" 

Harasawa didn't know how she knew about that conversation. He struggled to sit up, and gripped his aching head. His mouth felt like sandpaper. "Why are you here?" 

"I've left some information about Shouichi's funeral on your table." She smoothed some crease on her skirt. "And I thought I'd make sure you hadn't drunk yourself to death."

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost an hour, unfortunately." She looked around his apartment. "Well, there was never any accounting for Shouichi's taste." 

Harasawa's voice had an edge to it. "Do you _want_ something, Momoi-san?" 

She stared down at him. "You owe it to Shouichi to visit his grave, at least."

Harasawa was staring at his hands. He still had lines of dark blood in the creases of his palms. "What happened?" He hated himself for how broken he sounded. 

"Someone came back to finish what they started," Momoi answered. "The problem is being taken care of." 

Of course it was. Harasawa closed his hands into fists and fell back on the floor, unable to look at Momoi. She rose, and stepped over him to go to the door. "You can consider us no longer your problem, Officer." 

Harasawa closed his eyes, and didn't open them until well after the door had closed. 

#

He went to the grave a week after the funeral. He'd used up the last of his days off claiming another family emergency--during which he wouldn't have rembered how much he drank, were it not for the damning evidence of the bottles left lying around his apartment. 

This visit he was forced to fit in around his work schedule, and after he took his kids home. He had to drive a ways--they had buried him near the old family home. 

The sky was a bleak grey as he made his way through the cemetery, looking for the right lot. There was a bench near Imayoshi's grave, and Harasawa was glad there were so few people around. 

He sat, and stared at the grave, his palms itching at the memory of blood. "I'm sorry." He rubbed his face. "I'm so sorry, Shou." 

He had seen other people shot before. He should have been able to do something, anything. Anything except sit there helpless, blood running through his fingers. 

Harasawa drew in a breath, and reached into his pockets to fumble around for a pack of cigarettes. "I know you never asked for them because you liked them, but, well." He laughed. "It's the only thing I could think to bring." He put them down, and folded his hands in front of his face. "I'm sorry. I should have been able to do something."

"And what, exactly, do you think you could have done?"

Harasawa sat up, and turned to look at Imayoshi's mother. She was wearing a long black coat, buttoned up against the cold. "You're a police officer, Harasawa, not a paramedic." 

Harasawa looked away. "I am sorry, about your son."

She was quiet for a moment. "Did you love him?" 

He closed his eyes. "Against my better judgment." 

"That is the way most people seemed to care for Shouichi." She was too like him, too hard to read. "But I am glad, at least, that you cared for him."

"If one of us should have died, it should have been me." 

"The people who killed my son had no reason to come after you. And if they had, Shouichi would not have been the same, if you died."

Harasawa glanced at her. "Is that so? I was under the impression that my time with him was coming to an end."

"Perhaps. But if it was, that probably would have been kinder than continuing your affair as it was." Her gaze was merciless, and he could see why Shouichi had been what he was. "You would never have been a part of our world, Officer. Satsuki tells me you have a family. You can at least still care for them."

Harasawa didn't have it in him to speak aloud that he doubted he was really a part of his children's lives anymore. He was more of a stranger to them every time he saw them. 

She turned her back on him. "Be glad your children are still alive, Officer." She left him sitting in the cemetary, looking at her son's grave.

Harasawa still didn't know her name. 

He stood, letting out his breath. "So I guess this is goodbye." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish it could have been better." He turned, walking back to his car, hands in the pocket of his coat. 

It would be better, he thought, if he never came back.


End file.
